Predator (14 page)

Just inside the decrepit door, Hewitt met one of solid steel, another buzzer beside it. Five quick buzzes, one medium and three long, signaled Parker that it was safe to answer the door. The dark circles under Parker’s eyes and his bird’s nest hair made it look like the scientist hadn’t slept in days, but Hewitt didn’t care. Whatever it took to get the job done.

Parker threw the deadbolt behind them. Then they made their way through a maze of hallways to the lab, deep inside the building. Cameras mounted near the ceiling tracked their approach.

“I think I’m being followed,” Hewitt said.

“By who?”

“I don’t know. It’s sloppy, not military. I’m letting them think they’re getting away with it to reel them in.”

Parker nodded.

“Are we making progress?” Hewitt asked.

“It won’t be long now. I’ve been using Sunderland’s preliminary research to create the serum.”

“Good. Once we convince him to test it on humans—or if Maberry convinces him first—and we know it works, we’ll move on to Phase Two. No more of this going where Uncle Sam tells us, barely ever seeing our families and risking our lives for a few bucks. We’ll be able to take the jobs we want and name our price. We’ll be elite. Effective. And unstoppable.” He drew in a deep breath and then smiled wide. “Hell, the Army can’t crack Datta Khel, but we’ll be able to put boots on the ground in Afghanistan and take it in one day with only a few men.” The pride he felt was unmistakable.

“Sounds like lives will be lost. How are we going to defend that?” Parker asked with a slight hitch in his voice.

“It’s called collateral damage.”

Erin fiddled with her Benandanti ring while she waited for Isabella to answer her call.

“Yes,” Isabella said after the fourth ring.

“I’ve been following Hewitt like you asked,” Erin said into her cell. “But other than a stop at a warehouse there’s nothing unusual.”

“Tell me about the warehouse,” Isabella said.

“It’s non-descript. The sign says Yang’s. It could be a Chinese food or a clothing factory for all we know. Why am I watching this guy visit warehouses when we should be watching Sunderland?”

“We each have a role to play in a picture much larger than any of us can conceive. Your role is to stay on Hewitt.”

“But he isn’t doing anything,” Erin said.

“Yet you called me. This must be an unexpected change in his pattern. Correct?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Every new piece of information should be considered suspect.”

The Delcore Institute, Rivershire, Virginia

Bree hunched over the table in the lab and jotted down the weight of the control mouse. Only 0.6 grams difference from the day before, and no significant difference from when they had begun the gene therapy on the experimental mice. The experimental mice, on the other hand, had grown in size and gained a lot—up to two grams per day. The mice were big and strong and aggressive. If she hadn’t seen the changes for herself, she never would have believed it. Tucking the pen behind her ear, she removed the last mouse from the cage, weighed it, and put it back on the nest where it had been sleeping before she disturbed it.

A fierce mix of high-pitched screeching broke Bree’s concentration. Across the room, she saw a cage shake and rattle so hard it looked like it would bounce right off the table and onto the floor. “Dad! Come here! Quick.” She ran to the cage.

“What is it?” Her dad rushed into the lab from his office with a pen in hand.

“Louie’s attacking Zach, but it’s not like the other times. They’re screaming and biting—and they’re not stopping.”

Louie dug his claws into Zach’s side, and Zach let out a horrible screech. Then Louie clamped his teeth around Zach’s neck like a gator going for the quick kill and shook and shook and shook. Zach kicked, thrashed, kicked again and again, but Louie refused to release his hold.

“Do something!” Bree pleaded.

Her dad held up a hand to silence her. Then he leaned in closer to observe the mice. “It’s fascinating.”

“It’s awful. He’s gonna kill him.” Bree grabbed a work glove, shoved her hand into it, and opened the cage. Sensing danger, Louie released his bite for an instant. Then he clamped into Zach’s neck even harder.

Bree’s dad grabbed her wrist. “Give me the glove,” he said. “I’ll do it.”

The instant he touched Louie, the mouse turned on him, digging his teeth into the glove but keeping his claws in Zach. He didn’t care that he bit leather, just shook and shook his head like his life depended on it. “Grab one of those transport cages,” her dad said to Bree. “There’s also another glove under the other table. Hurry.”

She held the glove while her dad wiggled his free hand into it. He pried Louie’s claws away from Zach and lifted Louie out of the cage.

Still Louie refused to let go of the glove.

Bree didn’t know what to do first—help her dad, or see to Zach.

“Hold the cage for me,” her dad said, making the decision for her.

With one hand on top of Louie and the other caught in Louie’s grip, her dad moved his hands to the transport cage. Now Louie had both claws and teeth clamped onto the glove. Each time her dad jammed his gloved finger against the corner of Louie’s jaw to force him to release his grip, Louie reestablished a hold before her dad could react.

“He’s not letting go anytime soon,” her dad said. “I think I’m going to have to drop him and the glove into the cage…that is if I can get the glove off with him still holding onto it. If for any reason he gets away, keep track of him but don’t get too close. In fact, why don’t you set up one of those empty cages with some peanut butter just in case he makes a run for it. I don’t want to lose him. He’s too valuable to my research.”

She did as her dad suggested. “All set.” Bree stepped backward but kept her eye on her dad and the mouse.

Her dad whipped Louie and his gloved hand into the empty cage. He took off the glove, turning it nearly inside out with Louie inside. Louie released his hold on the glove and fell into the cage, ran head first at the wall, and smashed into it with his forehead. He repeated it over and over again, only stopping when Bree flung a glob of peanut butter into the cage.

Bree looked back at Zach. He lay motionless on the floor of his cage among blood-stained litter.

“He didn’t suffer,” her dad said. “There are a lot of holes, but it looks like a bite to the jugular did him in.”

Bree couldn’t help feeling sorry for Zach. If it weren’t for their experiment, Zach wouldn’t have died.

“Those sad eyes of yours, they’re so like your mother’s. If I cared for every mouse or rabbit I’ve ever worked with, I’d never be able to conduct my research.”

Bree hung her head. “We were responsible for him.”

“True. And for that I’m sorry.”

Bree took in the carnage in the cage—the scattered nesting material and Zach’s blood-soaked body. “Why did this happen?”

But her dad was already lost in his calculations. “I was right,” he said with raised eyebrows.

“Dad.” She waited until he turned to her. “Why did Louie murder Zach?”

“I was afraid this might happen when I did this. Knew it was a real possibility, but—”

“You knew this could happen and you did it anyway?” Bree’s voice was harsh, unforgiving.

“I hoped I was wrong.” Her dad let out a heavy sigh and rested his hand on top of Zach’s cage. “When I injected the virus with the lycanthrope gene into the muscle tissue, a bit of the virus with the gene must have been carried into the bloodstream and then into the brain where it was expressed. So instead of just creating a super strong mouse, I created a super strong and uncontrollable savage.”

“That’s awful.” Bree studied the female mice, which had also been injected with the gene. “Are they going to become savage too?”

“It’s possible, but I don’t know.”

“You’ve got to stop it.” Bree raised her head and looked at him like he had all the answers in the world.

“I don’t know if I can.”

“But what if you could?” Bree pulled up a stool, remembering all the holes in the bog body. Holes just like Zach’s, only larger. The final blow to the jugular. “Walk me through it, systematically.”

Her dad stared at the caged mice. “If I can find the DNA sequences that only allow the lycanthrope gene to be expressed in muscle tissue—not in brain tissue—then I can add those sequences to the virus and eliminate this problem.”

“But what about the other mice? The ones you already injected with the virus?”

“I’m sorry Bree, but there’s nothing I can do. It could take hours or days, but my best guess is these mice will turn ferocious too.”

It was still hovering near eighty when Bree stepped outside with her dad to head home for the day. The sudden heat was a welcome relief from the chill in the lab, although it clung to her skin like it had never left her. As they navigated the parking lot, Bree wondered about Liam: What was he doing right now? Had it been a hard hike to reach the remains? What did he find when he got there? She took out her cell and checked the date. Had it really only been a day since Liam had left? It seemed so much longer.

They stepped around a blue Ford Fiesta and reached her dad’s car. He opened the door for her. “I’ll swing by the house and drop you off and then I’m headed to the supermarket,” he said.

“Sounds good to me. What’s for dinner?”

A woman shot out from between two parked cars before he could answer. “You have to stop the research you’re doing,” she said in an Irish accent. “It’s extremely dangerous.”

Bree’s dad stepped back. “Who are you?”

“Just stop what you’re doing before it’s too late.”

“Too late for what? And how do you know what I’m working on?”

The woman gripped the car door, and Bree couldn’t take her eyes off the woman’s hand.

“I’m warning you. Those who interfere with the line of the wolf will perish.”

Before Bree could ask her mounting questions, the woman had bolted down the street.

Bree pried the car keys from her dad’s white knuckles. “Are you okay?” she asked.

He wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand. “She just surprised me, that’s all.”

“One thing’s starting to add up,” Bree said.

“What’s that?”

“Did you see that woman’s ring? It looked just like Kelsi’s.”

Sunderland Home, Rivershire, Virginia

Bree had just taken the last swig of her soda when the doorbell rang. The bell rang a second time and then a third. She wondered why people did that—what made them think that annoying someone caused them to move any faster. She placed the soda can on the coffee table, swung her feet to the floor, and tossed the remote onto the sofa.

It took Bree only a minute to pad down the hall and into the foyer, but the bell rang four more times in the interim. Bree peeked past the curtains in the living room on the way to the front door but couldn’t see who was there. An evergreen leaning against the house blocked her view; it must have fallen over the other night in the storm. She’d have to tell her dad about it when he got home, since he probably didn’t notice it either. They always came in through the garage.

She peered through the door’s peephole. Two men in Army dress uniforms. Both looked straight at her as if they could see right through the wood. Their stoic expressions made Bree think of the night they’d been told about Troy.

She immediately thought the worst. “Dad,” she whispered. Reaching for the doorknob, she steeled herself, tried not to let her wobbly legs collapse beneath her. She squeezed her eyes shut so hard she could see stars.
Please, please, please, please. Let him be okay.

The bell rang again, and she jumped. Bree flipped the deadbolt and turned the doorknob. The unused door opened with its usual squeak and groan, and she stood face to face with two broad men who towered over her.

“He’s okay, right?” Bree said, although she knew she wasn’t going to hear the answer she wanted. “Tell me he’s okay.”

The man on the left stepped forward and plowed past Bree. His chest hit her shoulder, and the impact smashed Bree against the doorframe. The second man followed the first into the house. “What’s going on?” Bree said.

The second man dug his fingers into Bree’s arm, yanked her inside, and then threw the door shut and locked it with a quick flick of the wrist.

“Where is he?” the first man said.

It took Bree a few seconds to register the implication. “You mean he’s not dead?” Her muscles relaxed at once.

“Where is he?”

“I don’t…I don’t know. I thought you were here to tell me—”

“Where’s Dr. Sunderland?”

“I told you I don’t know. What do you want with him?” Bree fingered the cell phone in her pocket. The larger man grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the door. “We already checked the lab and know he left a while ago.”

“Get off me!” She jerked away from him, but he kept his grip firm.

“Take it easy,” he said. “Once you tell us where he is we’ll leave.”

“I’ll look upstairs,” the other guy said. “Keep an eye on her.” He raced up the steps two at a time.

Bree shot her foot toward the soldier in front of her, but he took a quick step back, avoiding a blow to the knee. Somehow, he kept his hold on her arm. “Where’s your dad?”

“Not here,” Bree said, finding more courage. “What makes you think you can just force your way into people’s houses and do whatever you want?”

The soldier cracked a little smile. “We do what we have to do, especially when it comes to national security.”

Bree knew that was bull. If these guys were legit, they’d have name tags on their uniforms and they wouldn’t have barged into her house.

“What does my dad have to do with national security?” she asked.

The man didn’t answer.

The other soldier came down from upstairs and said, “All clear.”

At that moment, Bree heard the garage door open. Her dad was home—she didn’t know if she was relieved or scared. The other soldier raced down the hall and moved into position near the door.